


Throwing a Wench Into Things

by exandriantrashpanda (topothesia)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series) RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-03 06:02:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21174620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/topothesia/pseuds/exandriantrashpanda
Summary: Travis has some notes for Sam regarding one of his ad reads.





	Throwing a Wench Into Things

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to a prompt on the Critical Kink meme. Thanks, prompter!

“I still can’t believe you fucking did that, dude!” Travis says, bursting into the dressing room after the stream ends with all the subtlety of a hurricane.

“Were you really surprised?” Sam says. “I mean, really? It’s me.” He reaches up and runs his hands through his flattened hair, shimmying a little in the too-short, too-tight tavern wench “costume” he wore for his ad read. “Ugh. Wig hair is the worst.”

“Why didn’t you change at the break?” Travis asks, trying not to stare at Sam’s ass and mostly failing.

Sam shrugs, and in the mirror Travis can see the stuffed bosom of the costume shift as he does. “Didn’t feel like it? And it was fun to watch you all cringe every time you had to look at me.”

“Well. I have some notes,” Travis says. 

“Notes on what? The ad read? I probably should have asked you first, huh?” Sam says, his smile dimming a little. “You were a good sport. I’m sorry if I surprised you.”

“No, it’s not -- it was fine,” Travis says, although he’s shifting nervously from foot to foot, practically vibrating with the need to speak. 

“You’re not acting like it was fine,” Sam says. “So. Notes?”

“I don’t think you took it far enough,” Travis says. 

“How much farther could I have taken it?” Sam says. “I mean, Twitch does have pretty stringent nudity rules.”

“Not -- not like that,” Travis says. He sits down on the bench next to the partitions where they all keep their clothes. “It -- look, it turned me on, okay?”

Sam blinks, his mouth opening and closing without a sound coming out. After an awkward silence, he says, “Okay, you got me. That was a great joke. Who put you up to it? Liam? Laura?”

“I’m not joking,” Travis says. “But -- you know what, nevermind.” He puts his hands on his thighs and starts to get up, but Sam crosses the room to stand in front of him. 

“Wait. You’re not kidding? You liked it when I sat in your lap wearing --” and Sam gestures to the wrinkled, cheapest-option-on-Amazon-Prime one-piece Generic Tavern Wench costume, the chemise sagging with the tissue paper he hastily stuffed into it five hours ago, the ill-fitting skirt barely covering the tops of his thighs -- “this? Seriously?”

Travis sighs. “Yes. I did. I don’t know what that says about me, or about you, or about both of us, but.. Yes?”

“You must really enjoy going to the Renaissance Festival, then,” Sam says. “Anyways. That’s a hilarious attempt to keep this gag running, but it’s late and we both have work in the morning.”

“I told you; I’m not joking!” Travis says, and this time he stands up, and he seems to loom over Sam even though Sam’s not that much shorter. “Fuck it,” Travis mutters, and grabs Sam and kisses him hard. 

“Whoa,” Sam says when Travis releases him, blinking up at Travis, his already-smeared lipstick now an utter ruin, with a good portion of it now on Travis’s face. “You weren’t -- you weren’t kidding.”

“No,” Travis says, a little breathlessly, “I wasn’t.”

“So what do you want to do about this?” Sam asks, leaning into Travis’s space, close enough that Travis can look down the bosom of Sam’s dress. “Or are you all talk?” He shimmies backwards as Travis grabs for him. 

“Brat,” Travis growls. “I think you owe me for that little stunt earlier,” he adds, grabbing for Sam again, but Sam steps deftly backwards, grinning wildly at Travis. 

“But you liked it!” Sam says, fluttering his eyelashes and twirling, causing the skirt to flip up even further. 

“Yeah, but I had to sit through that whole stream with a half-chub because of you wriggling in my lap and making terrible dick puns for five minutes,” Travis says. “I think you need to be punished.”

“Oh noooo,” Sam says exaggeratedly. “What am I going to do?” 

This time when Travis grabs for Sam, Sam lets himself be caught. Travis sits down heavily on the bench, pulling Sam across his lap. Sam puts up a token attempt at getting away but not much more. “Oh no. What are you going to do with me?” he says. 

“Teasing brats like you get punished,” Travis says, flipping Sam’s skirt up and tugging his underwear down. “Wait. You were wearing panties?”

“I’m committed to the bit,” Sam says. “You should know that by now. And they were way more comfortable than that fake blood pack or the blue head makeup.”

“Enough talking from you or I’ll gag you with them,” Travis says, and he’s briefly surprised that those words came out of his mouth. Sam seems surprised, too, and he shuts his mouth.

Travis brings his hand down on Sam’s bare ass, and Sam makes a startled moan. Travis pauses, giving Sam a moment to react, but when Sam doesn’t try to get away, Travis brings his hand down again and again, stopping only when Sam’s ass is pink and Sam’s grinding against Travis’s thigh. 

“You liked that,” Travis says. “Didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Sam says. “But so did you.”

“Still a brat,” Travis says. “But I’ve got other plans for you,” he says, rolling Sam off of his lap and shifting Sam so that he’s kneeling. 

“You want to see what else I can do with my mouth, then?” Sam asks. “Should I put the wig back on?”

“It’s like you’re immune to any attempt to cure your brattiness,” Travis says, unzipping his jeans and standing briefly to push them and his underwear down. 

“Many have tried but all have failed,” Sam says. “Just ask my husband. Or my wife.”

“Well. At least this will keep you quiet for a while,” Travis says, putting his hand in Sam’s hair and dragging his head down. 

Sam’s good at blowjobs -- Of course he is, Travis thinks -- and it doesn’t take too long before Travis yanks Sam’s head back so that he can come all over Sam’s fake bosom. 

Sam sits back on his heels, trying to catch his breath, and then Travis tugs Sam up and back onto his lap again, sliding his hand under the tented skirt of Sam’s dress and wrapping it around Sam’s cock. He kisses Sam while he roughly jacks him off, a messy fierce kiss, swallowing the moans that Sam’s making. It only takes a few strokes before Sam shudders in Travis’s lap and a stain blooms across the front of the skirt. 

“Well. Good thing I wasn’t planning on using this costume again,” Sam says breathlessly. 

“It’ll wash out,” Travis says. “So will you.”

“Good thing I was planning to shower anyways,” Sam says. “You wanna come with?”

“That shower is not big enough for the both of us,” Travis says.

“Well. That kind of is the point,” Sam says, getting up from Travis’s lap and wobbling a bit. 

“All right then,” Travis says, standing up to, wrapping an arm around Sam’s waist as they head over to the shower. “Oh, and Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“I get to pick next week’s costume.”


End file.
